In Simplest Terms
by DaybyDay
Summary: PostRent fic A story of one man's past, his present and his future what he's lost, what he loves and what he might lose. Mark raises Roger and Mimi's child.
1. Shuffling Feet, Marshmallow Cereal

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Rent or any of the characters from Rent.

**A/N:** Feedback is thoroughly appreciated. If you guys like this story, I'll continue!

**Chapter One: Shuffling Feet, Marshmallow Cereal and How It All Might Change**

It was the sound of a door on it's rusty hinges squeaking that first pierced through his subconscious, stirring him awake. It was the sound of feet shuffling across the worn carpet of the hallway outside of the bedroom, though, that made him swing his legs over the side of his bed (wincing as the bottom of his bare feet hit the cool of the old wooden floor), and grope blindly for his glasses before peering at his bedside table. 3AM - no one in this house - including him - had any business being up at that hour.

Carefully and quite stealthily (something he thought about later and was proud of himself for), he crept out of his room, noticing as soon as he stepped out into the hallway and began the descent down the stairs that every light had been flipped on.

A sharp click of a lock being pulled, and his feet carried him faster, looking for the culprit behind the attempt to escape. A turn of a corner from the downstairs hallway to the main room revealed a head of dark curls, tippy-toed feet and a hand reaching for the doorknob of the front door, and before the person could pull open the heavy wood, he crossed the room and pressed his hand against it, stopping the movement. He peered down at the little girl at waist height, eyes wide and surprised.

"Hi Marina," He said, eyebrows to his hairline and expression blank and still. Inside, he was slightly bemused by her innocent, shocked eyes, but years of practice made him aware that in situations like where your seven year old is trying to leave the house at 3AM on her own you do not laugh.

"Hi, Uncle Mark," He voice faltered and the bottom lip protruded, something she did when worried that was inherited from her mother, of whom she would never know she inherited from.

"What are you doing?" He asked, calmly, coolly, pulling his hand from the door and sliding the lock shut with a defiant click. He watched as Marina slid her old worn Strawberry Shortcake backpack further up on her shoulder.

"I wanted to go to Abby's house, Uncle Mark. You said I couldn't go sleepover for her birthday but I wanted to so I was going to go," She shrugged her shoulders and there goes the backpack, sliding off her tiny frame and down her arms. It was at that moment that he realized how tired he was, that he was certainly too old to be up at this hour anymore.

"What did I say about Abby's sleepover?" He asked, placing a hand on her back as he began to guide her back towards the staircase. She sighed, her whole body rising and then falling in disappointment.

"That I can't go to sleepovers yet," She murmured, swaying a bit as she shuffled through the living room, stopping for a moment to pull her pajama leg up and out from under her socked foot.

"What else did I say about going out by yourself?" He said out loud, allowing a bit more of a humor-tinted tone to slip from his exhausted voice. They began ascending the stairs.

"That I'm not allowed to, not 'til I'm 37," She sighed, obviously not understanding her guardian had been exaggerating a bit when he'd explained that to her.

Mark, thoroughly amused with his own wittiness, smirked so she couldn't see him, "Exactly. And I told you that next year you can start going to sleepovers, and that I don't really know Abby's Mom enough yet."

"Yeah yeah," She continued as he lead her into her small bedroom. His eyes widened as he noticed her bureau drawers opened and clothes strewn on the floor - a mess that had been left in haste to escape to a sleepover party. Mark tsked out loud just as Marina looked up at him, eyes wide, knowing she was in quite a bit of trouble.

"Marina," His soft tone wavered into more of a warning one, "This is…"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Mark! Real sorry!" She pleaded, big dramatic tears forming on her emerald eyes. Mark shook his head and pointed to the bed, it's pink lace cover kicked half-way onto the floor.

"Get into bed, Marina- you are going to clean this up tomorrow, and then you and I are going to have a Stern Talk about this." Stern Talk meant business, and by the way Marina scrambled into her bed, her backpack tossed and forgotten on the plush rug next to Mark's bare feet, she knew this. Mark pointed at her for a second, shook his head, and ignored the bottom lip that was making it's presence known on her little face.

"Goodnight," He said finally, as he exited the room. He pulled the door closed behind him, just in time to hear her soft reply of goodnight.

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_The baby, Mark thought, seemed very much like a wrinkly, red doll. An alive, wrinkly red doll - one that breathes and makes noises and has feelings, that is. It was at that moment, as he cradled this little person in his arms, that he knew everything he'd ever known would change. His life as he knew it - in all it's bohemian glory, in it's scraping by day by day on whatever change in their pockets or sending Roger out to play a gig to get a couple of bucks for them to make it through the week- it'd all have to be flipped upside down. A baby, especially one that's going to be raised by him and Roger- didn't need all that extra stuff, all that baggage. It needed stability - food and comfort and the ability to be carefree, to be a kid. _

_There was a lot to be done, Mark knew, and he was going to have to be the one to nudge both of them in the right direction. _

"_We're not going to be able to do this," Roger's voice permeated his thoughts. Mark looked up from the baby in his arms to her father, sitting in the hard plastic of the hospital chair, "We can't do this without her."_

_Mark felt the lump in his throat, tucking Marina closer to his chest, her little fists brushing against the material of his teeshirt. _

"_Mimi-" He began, but Roger would hear none of it._

"_Mimi wouldn't want our baby growing up in that place - she had bigger plans for her, Mark -"_

"_Mimi wouldn't want us to give up on her," Mark very nearly growled, feeling suddenly very disgusted by Roger, "This isn't something you turn your back on, Roger. This is a human being. We're not going to toss her to the state or put her up for adoption because it might be too hard for you - for us."_

"_But this is not what Mimi wanted for her -"_

"_Mimi is dead, Roger," Mark said, and immediately regretted his words as Roger's eyes glittered with pain. He continued anyway, "This baby you and Mimi created together, Rog. This baby is part of you- a part of Mimi, it's a miracle. Don't be so quick to let it go."_

_And Mark felt bad, because this was hard for Roger, so hard for Roger. They didn't plan for Mimi to die, not during childbirth, not for a few years now. The child he held in his arms was a miracle to begin with - an accidental conception kept HIV-negative by the miracle of modern, developing medicine. Mimi had a lot of life ahead of her, a lot of happiness surrounding this child. She'd saw her future in this baby, in Roger. She trusted them both._

"_I'm worried about you, though," Roger's voice said suddenly, softly, cutting through the silence that had plagued them. Mark raised his eyes questioningly._

"_I'm not going to be around forever, Mark. It'll be you and Marina."_

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"Mark, buddy," Collins voice rattled through the phone, sounding dry and tired, "I'm heading back towards old N-Y-C."

The next morning, phone cradled to his ear, cup of coffee and newspaper on the kitchen table, leg crossed ankle-to-knee as he rubbed the soft material of his flannel pajama bottoms between his fingers. Marina sat across from him on another chair, legs tucked underneath her, curly hair curtaining her face as she picked the marshmallows out of the store-brand version of Lucky Charms. She was swaying her head back and forth and singing to herself in between bites.

"That's fantastic," Mark said , leaning back in his chair, eyeing Marina's progress from his perch. Dissatisfied, he pulled the phone away from his mouth, "Marina, baby, you need to eat all of the cereal. I told you I'll stop buying that kind if you just eat the marshmallows."

Marina didn't answer but obliged her uncle by picking up the spoon she'd been ignoring only moments before and began spooning the cereal into her mouth.

"When are you coming in?" Mark went back to his grown up conversation, yawning into his open palm.

"Tuesday," Collins replied, and Mark didn't look at the calendar to know that was three days from then (there had been a time in Mark's life when Tuesday was no different than Saturday, but things have changed).

"Great, I can't wait to see you," And that was the truth, because Mark hadn't seen Collins for four years, not since Roger's funeral. Not since he'd left to go to UCLA where he'd finally got a steady job, "Do you need a place to stay? You can crash here."

"Yeah, actually," Collins replied, and Mark could hear rifling through papers, "That'd be awesome. At least, until I get an apartment or something. I got transferred to NYU - gave me a better offer."

Mark couldn't hide his excitement and yet out an uncharacteristic whoop, which startled Marina a bit, making the little girl drop her spoon into her bowl with a splash. Mark laughed at this and offered his napkin to her, watching with a careful eye as she mopped up the little spill she made in response to her uncle's yell.

They'd spoken two to three times a week, Collins and Mark, for several hours at a time - but it was nothing like being able to sit and philosophize with his best friend in person.

Collins laughed in his ear, softly but happily. Mark could sense that his friend was tired, and he was worried about that - but he trusted Collins - he'd tell him if something were wrong.

"Is my favorite girl around?" Collins asked, "I want to talk to her."

"Sure," Mark smiled, then looked over at Marina, who was still trying to cleanup, "Marina girl, do you want to talk to Uncle Collins?"

Marina's eyes lit up and she scrambled off her chair as Mark rose from his own, trading her milk-soaked napkin for the phone receiver. Mark cleaned up the little mess she'd smeared on the small table and listened to her side of the conversation.

"Yeah, Uncle Collins, it was really weird," She paced, twirling her hair in a finger - another trait she'd inherited from her mom. Then there was the scrunched up nose, from her dad, "Bobby Miller said he liked me in class and then Mrs. Smith told him that that was not 'proapriate because he yelled it at me _across the room _during spelling."

Mark had heard this story, literally the moment she'd bounced out of school that day, but it still made him smile. He wondered if he ever did that to some poor, unsuspecting girl in second grade.

Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell startled him, and he hesitated a moment before answering it, racking his brain with who it could possibly be. With no idea, he left Marina in the kitchen, knowing at the level she was talking (loud, which is always how she spoke on the phone) he could hear her in the living room, where he answered the door.

"May I help you?" He asked the business-suited man at the door. The man smiled politely, eyed Mark's outfit (pajama bottoms and a teeshirt- it was before 10AM!) before putting out his hand.

"Hi, I'm Mr. Went," He said with a faux smile, "I'm Marguerite Marquez's - Mimi Marquez's mother, if you're not familiar- attorney. I'd like to speak to you, if that's okay."


	2. A Series of Unfortunate Events

**Author's Note: Thank you all for reading this and commenting, even if you were a bit wary about it at the time of click-age. I've decided that this will be a short series, maybe five parts at most. I am going to apologize now if my law-information is off, I'm a writer, not a lawyer, lol. If anyone knows anything about that kind of stuff and wants to share, then tell me! Thanks again!**

**Part Two: A Series of Unfortunate Events.**

Mark hadn't done one of those Panicked Phone Calls in years. Not since Marina was just learning to walk and had taken a tumble, her head ungracefully colliding with the corner of the coffee table, her cries sharp and terrifying. That had been when Roger was still around, and they tag-teamed it, Mark on the phone, dialing Cindy ("Cindy, I don't know what to do, should we bring her to the hospital?") while Roger tried to comfort the child.

But this was a different kind of call, this was the kind of call he never thought he'd have to make.

"Joanne," He said breathlessly as his friend picked up the phone. He could hear Marina's dramatic cries as she pounded up the stairs - result of his snappy, short-temper that had come from the conversation with Mr. Went - ("Marina, go upstairs and start cleaning up now, please." "Uncle Mark, I want to color!" "Marina! Right! Now!") and felt terrible.

"Hey you," Joanne's voice was so good to hear, like music in his ears, "What's up?"

"Joanne, Mimi's mother's attorney showed up at my doorway this morning." No use small talking, this was much too important. Joanne was silent, contemplating the words that had just been thrown at her.

"Mark-" She finally said, "Please don't tell me what I think-"

"It is what you're thinking, Jo," Mark sighed, leaning forward and placing his head in his hand.

"Oh, Mark," Joanne sighed.

"Can she do that? Can she take Marina away from me?"

Hesitation as Joanne contemplated, "It's possible-"

"But how, why! When Roger died, when we were going through all the paperwork so I could adopt her, I asked her if she wanted custody of Marina."

"Mark, I know-"

"-But no, she didn't. I asked her, because Marina is the only thing she has left of her daughter, even though I didn't want to give her up- I asked her because I felt she deserved to be asked. Roger wanted me to have Marina, but I asked Marguerite, and she said no, Jo, she said no because she was too old and she didn't want to raise any more kids."

"Mark -"

"And now she wants her? How is that possible? How is that fair?"

"Mark!" She yelled, and Mark stopped suddenly, breathing ragged and tired. His free hand rubbed his eyes, ran through his hair. He felt tired. He was tired.

"Mark, honey, you need to calm down." Joanne pleaded, "I don't know why she's doing this to you. I don't. But she can at least try - she won't succeed, but she'll try."

"How do you know she won't succeed?" Mark wondered, finally feeling a bit of hope.

"Because I won't let her." Joanne replied, determined.

Mark could only hope she was right.

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"_Rog, can you help me with the door?" Mark called, struggling to hold the sliding door open with his foot while balancing grocery bags. The plastic hanging off of his arms and in his hands were weighed down by diapers and formula cans, heavy and awkward._

"_Roger, the door!" These were the days when they were still in the loft, trying to juggle jobs and life and Marina and looking for a new place. With no help from Roger, Mark struggled through the stubborn door and collapsed all of his purchases onto the metal table with a loud clatter. He sighed, shaking his head, wondering where Roger could be with Marina to not hear him coming in._

"_Roger!" He said, and then he spotted his best friend, a small smile forming on his face. Totally passed out on the couch, Roger was laying on his back. Marina was sleeping soundly on her belly on her father's chest and Roger had a protective hand pressed on her back. They both looked so peaceful and at ease that Mark couldn't help but chuckle a bit to himself. He pulled the old worn blanket they had folded over the arm of the couch (Mark's grandmother had knitted for him when he was still in high school) and pulled it up and over their sleeping figures. Leaning over Marina, he kissed her temple, and then Roger's forehead, pressing a soft hand quickly on the back of Roger's protective one on Marina's back._

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"Marina," Mark said as he stood in the doorway to the little girl's room less than a half hour later. His guilt weighed him down, made him hurt inside. Marina looked over at him before upturning her head and looking away, making him feel just that much worse.

"Marina, I'm sorry," Mark continued, leaning on the doorway, watching her pick up her toys and mess from her bedroom. She continued ignoring him, and suddenly it wasn't Marina he was looking at, it was Roger. Young, angry Roger, betrayed and annoyed. This was the Roger that was escaping to Santa Fe, before Mimi returned, before Marina was even a thought, before their lives changed that second Christmas Eve. Roger, stomping through his room in the loft, throwing things in a well worn suitcase, ignoring Mark's pleas.

A slam of a drawer and Mark was back in his little girl's room, the tall frame of the memory of an old best friend turning back into his present, tiny Marina, curls bouncing and mouth twisted in a pitiful frown. Mark tentatively walked into the room and sat on her bed, running a hand through his already-mussed hair.

Before living in the loft, Mark had always thought himself a pretty independent person. He liked being alone, creating alone, thinking alone. Even during his life at the loft he considered himself pretty separate from his bohemian friends, keeping himself detached just a bit to have his own space. It wasn't until Marina that Mark had realized how dependent he really was on in the people in his life. The three years he had spent with both Marina and Roger both had been wonderful for him. He had his best friend; he had someone who depended on him.

The thought of losing the only thing in his life that kept him close to Roger, to Mimi, was so fucking scary.

"Marina, please," He said softly, begging. And then she launched herself at him, crying and crying and crying – he wasn't sure when she had started, but it seems to him that she couldn't stop. He held her close, breathing in her fading baby smell and wondered.

Wondered what was going to happen to him if she was gone.

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"So, I don't understand," Abigail said, as she walked next to him later that day. Running a few feet ahead was Marina and Abby's son Joshua, laughing and tripping over one another in their version of "tag". Mark's eyes strayed from the kids only a moment to look at his friend.

"I really don't know either. Joanne said it could be possible."

"But she signed the release forms –"

"I know."

They exchanged glances and sat down simultaneously on the stoop of Abby's townhouse, Abby's face tainted in a confused expression.

"How is Marina taking it?" She asked, flipping her curly hair to the side. Mark avoided her gaze and watched with a rueful smile as Marina grabbed Josh in an impromptu hug.

"She doesn't know." He said, "I told her I just wasn't feeling well."

Mark could sense Abby's protest but knew she had better sense than to judge.

"Well, how are you?" She finally spoke up, twisting the ring on her finger.

"Not so good. I'm not good at dealing with this kind of stuff anymore." He answered honestly – which he was even surprised at himself for, "I mean, Collins isn't even sounding so good. By the way – he's coming on Tuesday so you'll finally be able to meet him."

Abby nodded and said nothing, silent enough for Mark to finally look over, "Penny for your thoughts?"

Abby cringed, reached over and touched the side of Mark's face, a wan smile on her face. She looked hurt and betrayed, sympathy radiating out of her blue eyes.

"I was just thinking about what I'd do if they ever called me and told me and Jess that they were taking Josh from us."

Mark sighed and put his hand over hers and shook his head.

"Don't worry about it. It won't happen."

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"Alright, here's the deal," Maureen said, arms way over her head. In her hands she held a package of construction paper and an art box, the supplies inside clacking together loudly. Marina's eyes were wide and she looked extremely amused, Mimi's patented hand-clasp and goofy grin plastered across her face. Maureen shook the box.

"We, Marina Angel Davis-Cohen, WE - are going to making the coolest, bestest, prettiest pictures ever. That's our goal today. Are you up for it!"

And Marina jumped up and down, giggling at the sight of Maureen, who suddenly broke out into an impromptu jig, the bracelets on her wrists jingling wildly. Joanne stood a couple of inches behind her, eyes just as wide but not as amused.

Mark, who was shocked enough at the unexpected appearance of Joanne and Maureen, hadn't been prepared for Maureen to push her way into the their home without so much of a hello - immediately starting in on a rant about arts and crafts and how she and Marina were going to save the world.

"Uh, hey." He said, hand mid-wave. Maureen laughed and winked, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek as she shuffled past him, pulling Marina behind her by her hand. The two, both giggling wildly, disappeared up the steps as Mark turned to look back at Joanne, who was shrugging.

"Don't mind her." She laughed, and Mark suddenly leaned down and scooped her up into a hug, taking a deep breath to convince himself she was really there. Maureen and Joanne had gotten a small house in Suffolk County further out on Long Island and they didn't see one another as much as they used to. The sight of them, though, right then, was more then he could ever ask for.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, finally pulling away. Joanne kissed him on the cheek and quickly ran a hand through his hair, trying to pat the stubborn cowlicks down.

"Thought you'd need some support. That and I think we should talk in person." She said sort of sternly. Mark nodded and gestured past him, leading her further into the house.

"And Maureen?"

"Marina's distraction, of course."

Mark smiled, feeling, for the first time since the unexpected visit that morning, just a little bit of relief.


	3. Collins' Arrival and Bittersweet Moments

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been sticking with this story. Sorry this part took so long to get up. I'm guessing there will be around 2 or 3 more parts at most. Please comment on your thoughts! Also, I apologize for the wonky formatting in the last chapter. I'm not sure what happened.**

**Part III: Collins' Arrival, Bittersweet Moments, and When They Left the Loft**

Mark realized very soon after finding himself surrounded by Collins, Joanne and Maureen that following Tuesday that he very much missed Grown Up Talk. Not Censored Grown Up Talk (because curious ears were just around the corner) but real Grown Up Talk where Collins can make a jokingly suggestive comment that will make Mark's cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"So what about this Abby chick?" Collins smirked, nudging Mark playfully in the side. Mark rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort when Maureen spoke up, a sarcastic grin on her face.

"Yeah, maybe if he had a vag," She quipped, ever the eloquent one. Joanne laughed at Mark's expression of not being surprised at Maureen's comment and nodded.

"Abby has a longtime partner- her name is Jess," Mark confirmed, smirking back at Collins' wide grin. The anarchist laughed and clapped him on the back, shaking his head.

"Ever the attractor of the lesbians, the infamous Mark Cohen."

Mark shrugged and laughed at his own expense, "Oh you know me."

Mark liked this light banter, this fun teasing. It kept him from the serious conversations that had been taking over his life in the recent days. It kept him from seeing Joanne's concerned gaze, from hearing her words from their conversation from the other day from echoing in his ears ("Mark, I will fight for you, for Marina. You have a lot of things on your side, but Marguerite has quite a few too, namely blood. Marina is blood to her, Mark - you're not. That's probably going to be the biggest vault for us to get over. You just need to stay level-headed and with me and Marina through this."). He'd spent the next couple of days queasy and sick to his stomach, even having to get up to throw up that evening's dinner into the "porcelain god" (as Roger used to snarkily call it).

He had never been good with high levels of stress. The first few weeks he spent in the loft, post-Brown and pre-parents-getting-over-dropping-out-of-Brown, he'd spent a lot of time head over toilet tossing up every article of food he'd put in his mouth (which, to his own dismay, caused him to lose five or so pounds). Most people didn't know that his first real bonding time with Roger had been in one of those less than elegant moments - they had chatted about movies in between Mark throwing up and Roger getting him glasses of metallic-tasting tap water.

The opening of the front door to the little townhouse is what snapped his attention away from his own thoughts and ceased the conversation he hadn't even noticed that had continued around him.

"Uncle Collins!" Came the shrill shriek and the whirl of curls and giggles. Collins found himself with an armful of Marina, who was already talking a mile a minute about something. Mark looked up at Abby who was in the doorway, Marina's backpack in hand and a small smile on her face.

"Hey Abby," Mark grinned standing to embrace his friend and to take the bag from her hand. Abby kissed his cheek.

"Everything okay?" She said softly as they hugged. Mark kissed her cheek in response and nodded, all words needed to be spoken conveyed through the simple actions.

"Abby, this is Tom Collins," Mark introduced as Collins stood, Marina still tossed over his shoulder, "And Collins, this is Abby Miller."

The two shook hands cordially and Joanne and Maureen (who, for some unexplained reason, never really warmed up to Abby- Mark thinks it's because she might be a bit jealous of his friendship with her) waved from their seats at the curly haired woman.

"Do you want to come in?" Mark asked, gesturing to the table where he and his friends sat. Abby shook her head, looking a bit disappointed.

"I can't. Josh and Jess are in the car - he has a checkup at the doctor now," Abby replied. Mark nodded.

"Alright. I'll talk to you soon, alright? Thanks for driving her home." He leaned in for another kiss to the cheek and led Abby out, waving to Jess when he saw her in the car at the curb and closed the door behind his retreating friend.

Turning back to his family, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of Collins, Maureen and Joanne pouring over a picture Marina had drawn in art class.

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"_Thank you."_

_The voice startled Mark, and he shuddered lightly. Marina sighed against his chest and Mark turned his head to see Roger standing in his bedroom doorway, body illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the loft windows. Mark's eyes darted to the alarm clock they kept as a timekeeper on the counter. 3AM._

"_No problem," Mark whispered, placing a protective hand over Marina's tiny head, "It was my turn to get up."_

_And it was, because Roger had gotten up two hours before when Marina had woken up crying. Mark prided himself in their organized little alternating late night comforting, despite the fact that he was terribly exhausted. He bounced a bit and swayed, continuing his little figure eight pattern he made around the couch and metal table whenever he did this. Looking back up, he was surprised to see Roger still in the doorway, expression unreadable._

"_I couldn't sleep," Roger sighed, "I just needed to say thank you. I've been thinking about it."_

_Mark was slightly confused, but he let his patented lopsided smile cross his face anyway._

"_You're wel-" He began, but Roger interrupted him._

"_No, really, Mark. Thank you so much for this. You don't have to be up, you don't have to be changing diapers or helping me raise this baby. I've just been thinking about all the things I'd done over the years and all the things you've helped me with and I've just known that I wouldn't be alive right now without you, you know? And now you're helping me and giving me a chance to raise the baby that actually makes me feel like I wasn't a complete fuck-up, you know? So, thank you. You don't need to say anything. Really."_

_Mark was moved to tears by the look on Roger's face. Quickly turning his head to hide his dampened eyes, he kissed the top of Marina's head. The touch of Roger's hand on his arm made him turn._

"_Let me have her, you should get some rest." Roger said, hands open for Mark to give him the baby. Mark almost hesitated, but Roger wasn't going to be reckoned with. Cringing at the loss of warmth as he passed her to Roger, Mark retreated back to his bedroom._

_Despite the darkness and the comfort, Mark couldn't sleep. He was too busy listening to Roger sing to his daughter and trying not to cry._

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After dinner, Maureen whisked Joanne ("But I have to help Mark clean up!" To which she received a sharp response of, "Collins is here, silly!") and Marina (who hadn't stopped giggling since she'd gotten home) to go build a fort. It was times like these that Mark appreciated Maureen - he knew she wasn't just being silly for the sake of it - she wanted him to have time alone with Collins, and for that, Mark was severely grateful.

"So, how are you holding up, Marky?" Collins asked after they had fallen into a brief, yet amicable silence. Mark tossed cutlery and plastic plates unceremoniously into the sink before grabbing a rag from the counter.

"Truthfully?" He wondered, leaning back on the formica and looking up at Collins, who was putting condiments and soda bottles back into the fridge. Collins didn't even need to answer, really. Just a patented 'are you shitting me?' look and Mark knew.

"I'm a wreck," Mark answered honestly, wringing the damp rag in his hands, "I can't concentrate at work, I totally destroyed a whole segment of film yesterday."

He laughed, remembering his embarrassment when he had to explain to his producer of a boss that he'd lost the entire segment on the low-funded public schools in the Bronx because he'd hit the wrong button on the camera. It wasn't a very good day for anyone, especially Mark, who had to go back in the field with a migraine-complaining anchor, who already sort of hated his guts.

"I've been snappy at Marina, which I hate, so so much," He nodded, and then, crossing his arms over his chest, "And I've been like barfing my sleep away."

Collins cringed at this, "Nah, that doesn't sound good at all."

Mark laughed slightly at this, feeling a bit more relieved than he has.

"You know," Collins said, a reminiscent tone fluttering into his voice. Mark followed Collins' gaze to the school photograph of Marina under a guitar shaped magnet (leftover from the loft days) that was on the refrigerator, "She's looking more and more like Roger every day."

Mark's eyes danced over the photo, smiling at the cheesy grin Marina had in the photo. Always the ham.

"Really? Not Mimi?" He asked, kind of happy for Collin's comment. He's seen so much of his two best friends in the little girl he had a hard time objectifying sometimes.

"She did. She always looked like Mimi. But now she's getting older, and I see more of Roger. Her hair is even turning out lighter than it was, don't you notice? She's got the green eyes and the nose. And the smile, definitely the smile."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then,

"Honestly, it scares me how much she reminds me of them. I'm not going to lie - I hate it sometimes." Mark finally spoke up, his chest tightening at his confession. He'd never spoken this aloud, never thought it would be right. Something about Collins, though, being there, gave Mark the courage.

He knew Collins wouldn't judge him, wouldn't think any less of him.

"Sometime I hate that when I look at her, it sends me into a flashback. Or that when she pouts, I think of Mimi pouting, or when she huffs and is all dramatic it reminds me of Roger," He smiled softly, shaking his head, "It makes it so hard sometimes. She's so beautiful, and I love her so much. I love that she's here, she's mine. But at the same time, I hate that I can't let go of them and move on because she's in my life. I have this perpetual feeling of loss somewhere deep in my chest, all the time, because she's a constant reminder of what I've lost. It sounds so selfish of me, so shitty."

He paused for a moment before looking up at Collins, who's eyes were glazed with unshed tears.

"At the same time though, now I'm faced with the very real possibility of losing her. Losing her, losing her little laugh, losing her personality - which, although sprinkled with bits of Roger and Mimi - are very much her own. I can't live without her. I've just realized that, not only would I lose her, I would lose my last connection, my last bond with the very real, alive piece of them, you know? Somehow I think the Fender I have stored away in the closet and the various articles of clothes I have in the crawlspace isn't going to be enough."

He sighed then, allowing his chin to fall to his neck and his hair (which, he noted somewhere in his brain, needed to be cut) to fall in his eyes. He heard the scrape of the metal chair on the linoleum, and felt Collins' arms around his body, coaxing him into a hug.

"I'm so selfish." Mark said softly, against the plaid of Collin's jacket. Collins laughed slightly, the hum of his chuckle reverberating through Mark's ribcage.

"No, you're not, Mark. Don't you ever say that."

-------------------------------------

_Marina's first birthday party was a pretty crazy one, the pink and blue streamers donated by Maureen ("I didn't just want to use just pink, she should know that she can like blue too."), while the cake was baked by Mrs. Cohen, who was neverso happy to come into the loft until Marina came into their lives. The whole place was full of love, happiness and comfort, all dotted with cardboard boxes and empty space. The party, they all noted, wasn't just for the first year of Marina's life - it was also for Mark and Roger, who finally found a small townhouse in Brooklyn that had two bedrooms (one the boys would share- Mrs. Davis had actually bought them two twin beds with frames and headboards and everything!- and one for Marina) that was in a decent neighborhood and school district. This was a celebration for a little girl who smiled more than anyone they've ever known, and for her father, who's held himself together even after his fiancé died. It was for Mark and Roger, who were making changes in their lives, and were actually happy with the changes._

_The night ended with Marina falling asleep very early ("As babies should," Mrs. Cohen insisted, as she whisked Marina into Roger's room where the crib was) and the adults sitting around the metal table (which would have to be left there because of the fact that it technically belonged to the building and was much too awkward to get down the stairs and onto the moving truck) and talking. It was the first night Mark noticed that there wasn't much reminiscing, just looking into the future._

_And he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing._

_The next morning was a blur of running up and down the steps, passing Marina to and from various helpers (Collins, Maureen, Joanne, Cindy, Mrs. Davis and Mr. Cohen) as they went up and down the stairs to move the three lives into a tiny Uhaul. _

_It wasn't until they were over the bridge that Mark realized he never stopped to take a glance back at the loft as they left it, leaving their old lives behind. Leaving their past behind. Leaving the memories behind._

_-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Mark looked at the date on the calendar with a disdainful expression. On the little square, in pencil (because he is always hopeful it may just never happen and he can erase it away), it said "Family Court, 3PM".

"So it's that date, but to make it easier on you and Marina, I will only meet with you to speak with you about the technical crap once. It's really a fast type of case, it's not like you see on tv or anything, so don't get too freaked," Joanne had said, even though Mark already felt nauseous.

He frowned deeper, shaking his head. He heard Collins' deep laugh resonating from the living room, followed by Marina's giggle ("She definitely got Mimi's laugh," Collins had said earlier that day, "But Roger's humor.") and sighed.

Five days until his life changes forever.


End file.
